


Manual Therapy

by TLara (larissabernstein)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Massage, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Sensuality, Telepathy, Touching, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larissabernstein/pseuds/TLara
Summary: "So, if I asked you," Kirk's voice sounded rather shy all of a sudden, "you would give me a back rub?"
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 20
Kudos: 248





	Manual Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Another K/S fic I found on an old computer, written many ages ago, and unrepentantly fluffy and trope-happy. Enjoy!

**Manual Therapy**

The captured white queen in hand, Spock looked intently at the man before him who was raising his arms over his head and indulging in a slow and joint-popping stretch — pain clearly written on his features — for the seventh time since Spock had entered Kirk's quarters for dinner and a game of chess.

"Is there something wrong, Captain? You don't seem to be particularly interested in our game tonight."

Kirk shifted in his chair again and offered Spock a pained laugh across the platforms of the Tri-D chess. "Just say it out loud, Spock — I'm not really a worthy combatant tonight; in fact, my playing’s really lousy, and you are bored."

"Captain, Vulcans do not get bored — and if I considered our activity tedious I would not be present. I am merely concerned about your unusual behaviour. Your entire posture and body language are displaying symptoms of severe distress for which one does not need to be telepathic to notice. If something is troubling you, I have every reason to offer my assistance."

 _Every reason._ The words were out before he knew it, and Spock wondered — had he said too much?

Kirk looked closely at him as if he tried to chase these words in all their possibilities on his face. But never mind the words! Spock was aware that his eyes alone probably displayed too much of the honest concern and warmth he felt for his captain, and for his captain only. Was Kirk aware what kind of unsettling emotions he kept evoking in his first officer?

The man sighed, in a tone Spock found himself tempted to categorise as wistful.

"I could tell you that it's nothing, or that it's just that old kink in my back — but you know me too well, Mister Spock. I might as well talk about it. My authority as captain will not suffer, not if I confide in _you_." Kirk lowered his gaze to the table and started to toy with one of the very few black chess pieces he had managed to capture this night.

"I've always wanted to become a starship captain. Even when I was a very young kid — maybe four or five years old —, I used to look up into the nightly sky and think: That's where I belong. The stars out there are waiting only for me. They are my destined companions, my eternal friends, the other half of my soul.

"But at its core, it's a lonely life. I have sold my soul to the Enterprise, she takes and demands, she won't let go," he raised his eyes to meet Spock's. "Oh, not that I would trade my life for any other in the galaxy. It's just — sometimes the demands and sacrifices, my constant duty to be strong and reliable, to perform, are almost too much for me to bear alone."

Spock held his gaze and fought the inappropriate urge to reach out and take his hand. "Jim, you don't have to carry the burden alone."

For what seemed to be an eternity the two simply looked at each other. Then the captain stretched his arms and neck again and the spell was broken. "You know," he explained with a small smile, "we Humans tend to mirror our inner worries and problems in physical symptoms — as if the concerns alone were not enough already. Sorry that we are such an illogical race."

Spock shook his head. "There is nothing to apologise for. It is indeed common for a non-telepathic species to cope with the struggles of the mind by means of the body. Most Humans do not possess enough mind control to solve their issues by meditation or mental exercises. Communication, however, as well as physical exercise might prove efficacious. As does manual therapy. When I stated that it is my wish to assist you to the best of my abilities, I meant what I said. Whether you prefer me to listen, to accompany you to the gym, or to administer a massage to you — I am at your service."

Kirk stared at him as if he were not quite sure whether he had understood correctly. "So, if I asked you," his voice sounded rather shy all of a sudden, "you would give me a back rub?" 

Spock got up and went over to Kirk's chair. "If it pleases you, Captain. I can assure you my knowledge of Human physiology and basic medicine is profound enough to ease your back pain. Please, let me help."

Without waiting for an answer, Spock positioned himself behind Kirk's chair and put both hands on the captain's shoulders.

"And here I was thinking you were appalled by too much closeness and touching," Kirk said, and there was an almost awkward edge to his voice, but he still leant into the touch, as Spock let his hands wander over the thin fabric of the uniform tunic, the warmth of Human skin beneath it an exotic and fascinating sensation. Spock knew he had to make sure it was a professional, technically skilful touch, but there was no doubt that it lacked the anonymity and distance which were usually part of the treatment when conducted by a massage therapist.

"Your assumption was correct — as far as it pertains to my general preferences."

Spock let his hands ghost gently over Kirk's shoulders and neck, alternating between soft almost-caresses and stronger pressure and kneading motions. He focused on his deep knowledge to provide his superior officer with the promised alleviation of pain. Still, despite his best efforts to maintain his telepathic control in order to not intrude on the other man's privacy through his touch, he could not help perceiving a few — not distinct thoughts —, but fleeting images and feelings from Kirk's dynamic mind, mere shadows of the greatness and depth hidden beneath. And while he tried his best to not dwell on these unintentional peeks, he could not help noticing his own growing excitement at the pronouncedly... positive, to say the least, emotions Kirk was broadcasting in regard to his first officer.

Spock was working the captain's joints and muscles for several minutes until Kirk broke the silence.

"It's unbelievable — I feel already so much better. But may I ask a favour of you? I have these special massage gloves which my mother had sent some time ago," Kirk's voice took on an abashed tone. "Yes, I have quite a long history of back pains. I'd love to give them a try. You will find them in the upper drawer of my bedside cabinet."

Spock nodded wordlessly and went to open the drawer as if it were his own. He decided to file away the pleasant feeling that his captain's intimate trust in him evoked, for later. Among several other objects like an antique writing tool and a paper notebook, some two-dimensional photographic pictures, and a small amulet on a golden chain that would fit around the neck of a toddler at best, there was a flat package of an object loosely enveloped in gift wrapping.

“They are still wrapped. You have never used them before? Considering your back pains it would have been advisable to make use of this thoughtful present," Spock commented with genuine curiosity.

Kirk chuckled. "It was one of those well-meant X-mas gifts one stores away for eventual use, but seriously — whom should I have asked? They may be useful, but not for a single man of the Human species. If I were able to give myself a back rub I would not need it anyway. And I didn't want to ask Bones, he would have told me, _I'm a doctor, not a masseur_. Besides, there is no need to overly concern him with my back pains — you know, beyond here there be hypos."

Spock unwrapped the pair of gloves and examined them with interest. They were made of a surprisingly thin material, allowing the massager an unhindered feel of the patient's body, its aches and reactions. They featured a moderately bosselated surface suitable to stimulate the nerve endings and enhance the blood circulation in the patient's skin. Despite their delicate material they were fully equipped with embedded ultra-thin power cells which could be charged via a separate device. Small buttons on the wrists resembling cufflinks allowed continuous variability. These massage gloves were nothing less than a highly efficient medical device.

"Maybe it would be beneficial — to the massage — if you removed your uniform tunic and lay down on your bed? It would give me better access to the entire aching area and I doubt that these gloves will work as intended on a clad back."

Kirk got up from his chair and grabbed the hem of his tunic, but just when he raised his arms and was about to tug it over his head he froze with a hardly suppressed gasp mid-movement. "A fine galactic hero I am," a muffled sigh came from under the fabric, "not even able to remove my shirt without calling the nurse. Just look at your commanding officer caught in his own uniform. Next, I'll call for the bedpan like an old man!"

Spock noticed the clear tone of embarrassment scarcely hidden behind Kirk's attempt at sarcasm and self-irony.

Without even asking for permission he reached for the offending tunic and helped the captain with removing it. Kirk's face was a bright red, but Spock could not decide whether this was from the back pain or embarrassment or maybe both.

Kirk threw a sheepish look at him and lay face-down on his bunk without any further comment.

Spock had seen his captain's bare torso on occasion, in the gym or on yet another shirt-destroying away mission, and even here in the captain's quarters, as Kirk was seemingly not especially self-conscious and had no objections to opening the door bare-chested, or discussing ship's business fresh out of the shower, with nothing but a towel around his waist. Still, the sight of the Human's outstretched form on his bunk in front of him, waiting for Spock to touch him, was a very different kind of experience. It was too intimate a picture. The smooth hairless skin had an aesthetically pleasing golden shimmer which highlighted the strong muscles underneath. The muscles of his arms were bulging as Kirk folded them under his chin, thus creating an enchanting triangle of power and manly beauty. The nape of his perfectly shaped neck was graced by soft golden down, looking a hue darker and even silkier than his hair.

Spock silently and illogically found himself compelled to thank all the Vulcan divinities of his planet's pre-Reform past, that the massage gloves would spare him the direct skin-to-skin contact with this fascinating and in so many ways… appealing Human. He slipped on these unusual gloves and took a few moments to adapt to the slightly irritating feeling. They provided a tight but not uncomfortable fit thanks to the stretchy fabric. He examined his hands from all sides and had to admit that the gloves were almost made for him like a second skin, guaranteeing comfortable and efficient functionality for both the active and the receiving participant in the massage.

His telepathic shields held firmly in place, Spock bent over the outstretched form and continued his ministrations, now thinly gloved Vulcan hands on naked Human skin. He started on the scapulae, assigning to each hand one shoulder blade, and moved his palms in soothing and warming circles. He did not use the vibrating function yet as he wanted to give Kirk — and himself — some time to get used to the new haptic sensation. Spock's hands wandered back and forth along the shoulder girdle, the touch light and careful, again more like a caress. Kirk was silent but visibly relaxed as he gave himself over to his officer's talented movements. Spock understood this as the permission to continue and let his hands first work along the other man's spine, his fingertips performing minute circular movements over every single vertebra, then began to tap, in a motion not dissimilar to a kitten's exploring paws, up and down the backbone, coaxing the ligaments towards relaxation.

Kirk let out a hearty sigh. "Has anybody ever told that you have magical fingers, Mister Spock?"

 _And I hope he will understand this question as a rhetorical compliment because I could not bear a positive answer…,_ Spock unintentionally picked up on Kirk's unsaid thoughts and immediately enforced his shields. Although the captain was a member of a non-telepathic species, his mind was of an exceptionally dynamic and powerful kind, capable of broadcasting images, thoughts, and feelings to Spock even without skin-to-skin contact and even with Spock's titanium-strong mental shields between them. Had he only enjoyed the occasional experience of their mental contact before, this encounter now constituted an absolute proof of their minds' high compatibility.

"To date — only you", he assured the captain.

"Good, because I'm not very willing to share,” Kirk said with mirth, the telepathic postscript following immediately: _Oh my god, have I really just said that to him?_

Spock allowed himself a tiny smile, because in this position Kirk could not see his face anyway, and began to knead the velvety skin on both sides of the spine.

"Ah, yes, that's it!" Kirk moaned when Spock happened to touch an especially tense area of his lower back. That seemed to be an appropriate cue to switch on the gloves' electro-stimulation. Spock turned the cufflink buttons on both gloves and chose a moderate level. The sensation was almost overwhelming. Spock's sensitive fingertips, as well as the palms of his hands, were tingling and prickling from the still only gentle vibration. He summoned whatever control he could muster and concentrated on his task. His captain was in pain and needed help. It was only logical to fulfil his duty and assist his commanding officer and friend with alleviating his discomfort.

"Ah, dig it in there, Mister Spock!"

Kirk's form rose up a little from the bunk, into his touches, obviously craving for an even more intense contact. Spock decided that the needs of the captain outweighed his own predicament, and increased the vibration. He paid diligent attention to all the tense areas of Kirk's back and made sure to attend to the shoulders, the well-built upper arms, and the nape of his neck as well, disappointed only that the gloves granted him no chance to feel the texture of that soft golden down.

His breathing quickened. This massage turned out to be a forceful and overwhelming attack on Spock's superior Vulcan senses. The sight of his friend's golden body, stretched out before him, no — for him, the embodiment of the very concept of charms, under his eyes and hands so trusting a man and somehow so vulnerable, was too much. There were these soft sounds Kirk could not avoid making: a relaxed sigh, a tender moan, his increasing breathing rate, an almost lusty gasp of pain relief and pleasure at once. What made matters even worse, there was the fresh and yet musky scent of Kirk's skin, the fragrance which was the very essence of his being, smelling like sunshine and grass moist with dew, symbols of courage and gentleness alike, and fresh Starfleet soap, and that not unpleasant subtle note of sweat. What would it taste like?

Spock felt dizzy.

But above all, there was the feel of Kirk's body under his hands, the ripple of proud muscles under his movements, the resistance and compliance of beautiful, yet through and through masculine, flesh that spoke of action and strength, passion and lust, of life; Spock finally understood the Terran poet’s arcane words:

_I sing the body electric ..._

_The flush of the known universe is in him ..._

_If any thing is sacred,_ **_this_ ** _Human body is sacred._

The massage gloves kept eagerly vibrating and stimulating Spock's nerves which were already on fire, his hands two wanton traitors, hungering for even more, shooting their neural impulses straight into his brain and into his groin. The vibration emphasised a need and desire that had been already present for long, the desire to touch, to grab this Human and never let go again, to learn every square-centimetre of this delicious flesh by heart, to go beyond the final physical barrier and meld with this being, become one without the restraints of the corporeal form.

Spock had to steady himself on the bed. Kirk turned his head and regarded him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"Spock, standing there and bending over my back must be pretty uncomfortable for you. Maybe it would be better for you to kneel on the bed. We don't want _you_ to get a kink in the back, do we?" _Although I would not mind reciprocating…_

"There is logic to be found in your suggestion, indeed," Spock replied to both Kirk's spoken and telepathically transmitted words in a low, husky voice and climbed onto the bed, effectively straddling the other man's body.

He found the captain's uniform-clad buttocks directly under his own crotch, providing agreeable friction to another hungry part of his anatomy. Spock continued to knead away the pain and tightness of Kirk's back, painting invisible patterns all over his skin with the artistic brush of his movements. Two fingers of each of his gloved hands came together and formed the familiar Vulcan sign of caress of their own volition. Kirk groaned and writhed beneath the touch that signalled an increasing hunger. He rubbed his body between the bedsheets and his devoted masseur, seeking and increasing friction for both men, and Spock had no choice but to hold on for the ride. Kirk's lips twitched and formed the shape of a single syllable, and Spock was certain the almost inaudible sound could have been his name, but the man under him was seemingly struggling to keep any clearer vocalisation to himself and settled for a wishful moan instead.

The gloves' electro-stimulation finally swept away Spock's already weakened shields and a flood of emotions, thoughts, ideas, images attacked his mind. A collage of _/want, fear, shame, hesitation, sorrow, hunger, love, desire, us/_ filled his head. Both men gasped with this bitter-sweet shock that ran through their bodies and minds when realisation triggered an avalanche beyond climactic fulfilment, a wave that crushed the piteous physical barriers of individual existence.

 _The walls are torn down eventually_ , Kirk stated mentally with delight and relief after an indeterminable amount of time had passed.

 _You intended that, Captain? You made me deliberately lose control...? How could you…?_ Spock replied in his thoughts, shocked that the words were so easily transmitted between their minds, and he was frozen in his position, slumped face-down and fully clothed on Kirk's naked back, his fingers still lingering on the Human's nape, vibrating with a feral passion that went beyond the intensity of any sophisticated massage device.

“No, Spock, I made _us_ lose control,” Kirk spoke up. “You are not the only one who tried to keep his shields intact. Being a starship captain responsible for 400 crew members, always committed to duty and to my ship — is a shield of its own. Holding me together, protecting me, giving me strength and authority. And keeping me tongue-tied when it comes to the most important part of my life. It may take courage to hold command, but it takes more to let go.”

Spock climbed off the luscious body under him and stretched out next to Kirk on the small bunk. He took off the massage gloves and tenderly traced a line from Kirk's brow down to his chin, relishing in the pure skin-to-skin contact which made his fingers tingle and burn even more than the gloves had been able to.

"Have I managed to ease your pain, Jim? Or do you want me to continue my treatment?"

A pair of laughing hazel eyes answered his unspoken questions, while soft wet lips responded to the spoken ones and uttered a single audible word: "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Spock quotes a few lines from "I Sing the Body Electric" by Walt Whitman (1819-1892). As Vulcans do.


End file.
